


Sugary sweet

by S_Horne



Series: A May Medley [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Kid Fic, M/M, Teacher Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Horne/pseuds/S_Horne
Summary: “What the hell is buttermilk?”“Excuse me?”“Buttermilk,” Tony said again, not at all bothered by the fact he’d suddenly accosted a stranger. “What is it? I have butter and I have milk, but what is buttermilk? Does it actually exist?”Tony looked up from his shopping list to blink at the stranger in front of him expectantly. He was so caught up in his quest that he could barely even spare a brain cell to appreciate the beauty of the man he’d stumbled up to.“Yes,” the man finally said, blinking in surprise. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s a real thing.”ORNational Buttermilk Biscuit Day





	Sugary sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This is grossly OOC
> 
> Day Fourteen: National Buttermilk Biscuit Day

“What the hell is buttermilk?”

“Excuse me?”

“Buttermilk,” Tony said again, not at all bothered by the fact he’d suddenly accosted a stranger. “What is it? I have butter and I have milk, but what is buttermilk? Does it actually exist?”

Tony looked up from his shopping list to blink at the stranger in front of him expectantly. He was so caught up in his quest that he could barely even spare a brain cell to appreciate the beauty of the man he’d stumbled up to.

“Yes,” the man finally said, blinking in surprise. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s a real thing.”

“Really?” Tony squinted at the man and then back down to his list. “Where do I find it?”

The man gave a startled laugh before he dropped a block of cheese into his shopping cart. “It’ll be with the milk, I guess. Down here.”

Tony followed dutifully, one eye on where he was going and the other on the dodgy wheel of his cart. Trust him to pick the one that kept veering off to the left whilst making the most awful clunking sounds.

Tony nearly crashed into the man he was trailing behind when he stopped suddenly.

“Here we are. How much do you need?”

“Ah.” Tony looked up at the shelf in front of him in there and his jaw dropped. Apparently there was such a thing as buttermilk and there were an awful lot of varieties to choose from. Low fat, full fat, 2%; the list was endless. “Enough to make 72 biscuits.”

“72?” The man’s blue eyes nearly bugged out of his head and Tony groaned.

“I know, I know. My godson is having a big bake sale at his school and I said I’d help him make them to take the pressure off his aunt. The only problem is, I know shit about baking.”

“Well. I have no idea how much you’ll need for 72 biscuits. Do you have a recipe?”

“One would think,” Tony said sheepishly, “but I don’t really like following instructions. I’m more of a ‘wing it’ kind of guy.”

“I would love to see how you expect to bake 72 biscuits going in blind.”

“I’ll just apply some math to it. Turn the whole thing into a learning experience for Pete. The kid loves science; it will be great.”

“If you say so,” the man laughed. “But I don’t think kids like applying physics and equations to sugar.”

Tony rolled his eyes as he leant over to start grabbing one of each available variety of buttermilk. “Trust me, that kid is unlike any other.”

“He must be.”

“Okay, is that one of each?” Tony’s eyes flickered from his cart to the fridge in front of him, trying to count the labels he could see. “God, why do people even use this crap? I’d never heard of it. Was sort of convinced Rhodes had sent me off on a wild goose chase. I really hope these are going to be edible after all this.”

There was a loud laugh as the man lifted yet another bottle off the shelf and held it out to Tony. “God, me too. I’d hate for you to disappoint all of those children.”

“Just you wait,” Tony said with a cocky smile, saluting with the last bottle, “they’ll be the hit of _Midtown Elementary_.”

There was a pause and Tony looked up from his cart to see his acquaintance looking taken aback.

“Huh,” he said, a stunned smile playing around his lips, “maybe I’ll get to try them after all and see for myself. Steve Rogers, Midtown Principal.”

Tony took the hand being held out to him with a surprised laugh, letting his handshake linger for a beat too long. “How about that? Well, Mr. Rogers, I do hope you enjoy.”

 

//

 

“Hey, Peter-pan,” Tony called as he heard the front door open and the tell-tale patter of loud steps running down the hallway towards him. “How did the sale go?”

“We won!”

Tony laughed when he felt a small body collide with his legs and he reached for the tea-towel on the counter to dry his hands. “I don’t think you can win a sale, kiddo. I’m pretty sure you’re all working on the same fundraising team.”

Peter gave a light shrug, tugging at Tony’s legs until he bent down and swept the child up into his arms for a tight hug.

“Mine were the bestest ones; even Norman’s daddy said so. And Principal Rogers had _four_.”

“Really?” Tony said in exaggerated-awe, ignoring the skip in his heartbeat and instead focusing on the four sticky fingers that Peter was shoving in his face, dangerously close to his eye. “High praise indeed, Pete. Well done.”

“Yes, thank you, Tony.” Tony looked up when he heard May’s voice, already shaking his head to brush her thanks away. “I really appreciate it.”

 “And I told you not to worry about it, sweetheart. It was my pleasure.”

“Hm, I know.”

Carefully placing Peter back on the floor so that he could scamper over to grab his rucksack that May was holding out, Tony tilted his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” May said lightly, shrugging out of her coat and placing it over one of the dining chairs, watching as Peter ran through to the living room and settled himself on the couch. Turning back to Tony, she lifted one shoulder. “I just happened to notice that Principal Rogers took quite a bit of credit for the buttermilk biscuits when Mrs. Cartin commented how nice they were. Now, maybe I misunderstood, but I thought _you_ made those. You did, didn’t you, Tony? So Principal Rogers must have thought she was commenting on something else, right?”

_Uh oh._

“Of course I did,” Tony said quickly. A little _too_ quickly, maybe. “Those were definitely mine. All mine. I don’t know what he was doing. The snake.”

“That’s what I thought,” May continued, flicking her hair over her shoulder and holding Tony’s gaze, unwavering. “But then Principal Rogers and I were talking and he happened to mention that he hoped your baking trays were recoverable from the incident. What incident, Tony? And anyway, how would he know anything about your baking trays?”

Tony felt his traitorous cheeks flush a deep red and he turned back to the washing-up in a weak effort to hide it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” May crossed the room and leant against the side next to Tony, folding her arms across her chest in a far-too casual move. “So you don’t know why he bought a whole plate of cookies from Harry and Ned and asked me to hand them to you?”

Tony pressed his lips together to keep in a hideously-embarrasing squeal. “Nope,” he managed to stutter out, concentrating much too hard on a perfectly clean mug in the bowl of soapy water. “I have no idea why he’d do that.”

“Right,” May said, her voice giving away the fact that she didn’t believe him for a moment as she pushed herself up to stand again. “Well, I’m pretty sure I saw him scribbling a note that he tucked under one of the biscuits. And I promised Pete that he could have one when he’d finished his homework, so you might want to fish that out before too long. You know how quick that kid is.”

Tony waited until she had left the room before he swept the towel over his hands briefly and all but ran over to the table where he now saw an alarmingly large tray of misshapen cookies. Glancing over his shoulder to see if he would be caught, Tony ripped away the saran-wrap and pushed the sugar bombs to one side.

Sure enough, there was a folded piece of paper resting on the tray and Tony grabbed it eagerly, flicking away the layer of crumbs it had collected and rolling his eyes at the chocolate stains speckling it. Hopefully, whatever it said had managed to survive the grease. Tony willed his heart to stop beating so stupidly quickly as he unfolded it and began to read.

 

_Tony,_

_I had a lot of fun baking with you the other night. I really do hope that your trays were salvageable and that you could scrape off the burnt cookies, though I can’t find it in me to be sorry for the events that led to us forgetting them in the oven._

_The half-batch that you and Peter have done is impressive and clearly, without me to distract you, you are a decent baker._

_Perhaps you would like to bake something to bring round for dinner? I’ll cook the main if you bring dessert – and by ‘dessert’, I do mean actual food. (As well as yourself)_

_Say Friday, 8pm? Text me your answer. I’ll be waiting._

_Yours,_

_Steve x_

 


End file.
